


Technically in Trouble

by tjstar



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Amnesia, BAMF Klaus Hargreeves, Canon Rewrite, Consensual Possession, Gen, Ghosts, Headaches & Migraines, Hippies, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Mental Institutions, Mentions of Eating Disorder, No Incest, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Nosebleed, Past Drug Addiction, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relapsing, Sibling Bonding, klaus uses his powers in the final battle u r welcome, tua s2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25899421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: He aches as he lands. He’s got no memories at all — thanks to those angry-looking ghost zombies for reminding him his own name at least — and he’s got the dog tags.“Let’s see where these can get me,” Klaus breathes through another wave of fear. The dog tags belong to David Katz, and Klaus thinks hard about this name, about this guy, but probably the blow to the head messed him up. Where was he running from?Was the light real?---Klaus lands in Dallas on February 11, 1963, Ben is just a voice in his head, and their powers are the contents of the Pandora’s box.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone
Comments: 43
Kudos: 335





	Technically in Trouble

He aches as he lands. His ribs, his back, his neck, even his crotch somehow. He’s falling out of nowhere in a vortex of blinding light. This is it, his shoulder blades thud against the asphalt, and the blue flash disappears, the portal closes, and,

Nothing. The next thing he knows is that he knows _nothing,_ his mind is a blank page. Clean. Pristine. He’s dizzy and sick and so damn tired that he can’t keep his eyes open, but the shadows surrounding him don’t let him fall asleep, don’t let him relax, calling somebody by their name over and over again.

“Klaus! Klaus!”

Oh. That Klaus must be an asshole. The shouting doesn’t stop — along with the ringing in his brain — and it takes him a minute to realize that all those people are hollering _his_ name, endlessly and restlessly.

“Help us! What did they do to us?” 

He has a name now, he’s apparently _Klaus,_ and that’s enough for the start; there are bits of other languages mixing and blending into a cocktail that clogs his ears. German, Russian, Mandarin, whatever, whatever — he doesn’t know _why_ he understands them, but he _understands_ them. They’re in pain. He sees that when he blinks hard to clear his vision — they are all bloodied, mutilated, missing limbs and crying for help, trying to touch him, seeing him just like he sees them.

“Oh, _shit,_ that’s not good,” Klaus pants, turning away from his hallucinations and running down the street. They keep following him, and he runs as fast as he can, bumping into oddly dressed strangers on his way and eventually hitting the asphalt once again. His elbow is bleeding; Klaus presses his back against the building and takes a look at his own clothing. Well, he’s got some fashion sense. He’s got no memories at all — thanks to those angry-looking ghost zombies for reminding him his own name at least — and he’s got the dog tags. 

“Let’s see where these can get me,” Klaus breathes through another wave of fear. The dog tags belong to David Katz, and Klaus thinks hard about this name, about this guy, but probably the blow to the head messed him up. Where was he running from? Was the light real? Was there a war? Klaus exhales loudly, his side hurts, and the wind cools the skin peeking in between the laces in his leather pants. All the details he notices get him nowhere — what if he doesn’t want to remember? How can he be sure?

“Klaus!”

Klaus raises his head up, but he doesn’t see anyone. He gets up again, he sways, suddenly drained out as he sees more silhouettes around. Transparent, shadow people standing stock-still as he walks down the sidewalk, covering his head with his forearms to muffle their battle cries. There’s one more voice that sounds louder than the others, that keeps repeating his name, _Klaus,_ _listen to me, listen to me, just listen._

“Shut! Up!” Klaus growls, falling to his knees in the middle of the street. The dead need help, they need _his_ help, but does he really care? “I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy, it’s fine,” Klaus smiles shakily. “Hey, hey, excuse me,” he tries to get some woman’s attention. Her green dress is probably too bright, and it doesn’t even match her purse, but does it really matter, when that purse hits him in the shoulder? And again. “Can you at least tell me where am I?!” he takes a few steps backwards. “Or what _date_ is it?”

She doesn’t respond. 

His shoulder hurts. 

The voice in his head tells him that roaming the streets _like that_ is not safe, and Klaus is so tired of jumping away from every stranger he meets on his way. There’s the buzz in the back of his head, his heart is about to break through his rib cage. _David Katz, David Katz,_ Klaus clutches the dog tags in his palms. He should find that guy, right? Definitely. He probably knows something about him, or about his past, or maybe he’s the one who’s looking for him right now. Klaus knows he’s hallucinating again, and he clamps his palms over his ears to block them out again, and again, and again, they look dead, they keep telling him _they’re dead,_ and his skin is itching. He keeps scratching his forearms until they bleed, and his back is hunched, and he’s sweating through his army vest. He needs _something,_ but he doesn’t know what exactly, he just keeps walking, away, away and away from the place where he landed. Was he kidnapped by FBI? Did they do _that_ to his brain?

Klaus feels like he’s going to pass out. _Not good, not good,_ he tells himself, _drag your ass to a safer place where you can shit your pants in peace._ Sometimes his inner voice doesn’t sound like his own, but Klaus ignores it. He eventually finds the date on the magazine in the trash can: February 11, 1963, and well, it probably explains why he’s so damn cold. He keeps walking until he’s out of the city — well, he was in Dallas, Texas. Knowing that is a bit better than knowing nothing — and he stops by the road sign. _Dallas._ Something just doesn’t feel right, something doesn’t fit to his damaged brain. He hears a choir of voices, again, a lot of them, he closes his eyes — he doesn’t want to see the corpses again — his skin gets all sticky and clammy, and he can’t stand upright. Klaus lays by the roadside, curling into himself and drowning in his misery as the stars in the sky shine brighter, and all the sounds around him turn into indistinct chattering. Before he fully comprehends it, he’s on his feet again, running and flailing, but it’s all in his head, all of them are just his creation.

So when he sees the bus — a classic hippie bus with a plethora of acid-themed graffiti adorning it — he thinks his mind is fooling him again. 

In fact, it isn’t.

The bus stops, and the door opens, and there’s the hand welcoming him inside. And there are the words —

“Need a ride, stranger?”

***

His nightmares get worse — Klaus didn’t even know he was supposed to get them — but they’re here, in his brain. His head hurts all the time, his nose bleeds when he thinks too much. And his dreams, dreams, _dreams,_ are all about deaths, helicopters and blood, reeking of napalm and sweat. Sometimes there’s something else, someone else — there’s the guy dressed in black — Klaus doesn’t see his face, but he keeps talking to him nevertheless,

_“Find them, Klaus, they’re looking for you.”_

“For _me?”_ Klaus whispers. “Who?”

He wakes up before he gets the answer, he chokes and tastes copper on his lips. He’s bled all over the front of his shirt in his sleep, he feels gross and worn-out. Well, probably joining a local hippie community was the only option. Klaus’ head is about to explode when he thinks he’s about to get a hold of his shattered memory. It’s just so painful that he wants to stop trying, but he can’t — as if a part of him, a voice of his inner self _wants_ him to remember.

Klaus found some friends here in Dallas — he would’ve lost his mind without them; Jill and Keechie, a funny couple who are way too cheerful for Klaus’ liking. Always together, always close to him — he can talk to them, he actually talks. About the ghosts, about languages, about his craziness and that voice in his head. 

“Bad dream again?” Jill asks. Sometimes Klaus thinks she doesn’t sleep at all. 

“Yeah,” he nods, pressing his sleeve to his nose. “The war, people dying, the usual, you know,” he sits down onto her sleeping bag. The pulsation in his temples gets stronger when he thinks back about his nightmares, he wants to see the faces clearly. “I need to find someone, you know? My head’s killing me.”

His skull is about to crack as the pain increases. Jill sighs. 

“You will remember them, Klaus. You’re just pushing yourself too hard.”

Keechie was the one who told Klaus that he was _detoxing_ — when he felt either too hot or too cold, shaking, sweating, and puking his guts up three days in a row — he was drugged then, but who did that to him? Klaus begins to think his life is just an experiment. He’s about to ask those damn ghosts why they keep haunting him — but they’re too busy screaming and begging for help. That’s demotivating. 

Klaus doesn’t even know how many people have joined them over the course of the past few months — sometimes there’s just ten of them, fitting in one hippie bus, and sometimes there’s what feels like a hundred of them. They say they all are a family, they smoke the weed together, they share their plans and thoughts. They travel. Klaus never stops looking for the owner of the dog tags. But Klaus’ demons travel with him. He doesn’t like when the community members get too close to him, his skin burns under their fingers — _hey, this guy can commune with the dead, right? Klaus? Hey, Klaus!_ His unique tattoos speak up for him: _HELLO, don’t touch me, GOODBYE. No, I can’t say hi to your grandma Dorothy, that’s not how it works._ They’re clingy, some of them think he’s a prophet because of some of the things he says; _oh, is JFK still alive?_

“I think I’m a fraud,” Klaus says.

“I am a fraud too!” Keechie nods so hard his glasses are about to fall off his nose. “I’m a fraud to myself.”

They’re sitting with the rest of the hippies, staring at the fire, and nothing feels real. Keechie says that being focused on his mind is going to help him cure his amnesia. But Klaus can’t overcome the wall of pain and fear, and the nightmares just drag him down. And so do the ghosts. 

“Are they real?” Klaus asks. 

And Keechie says,

“Of course, they are.”

He says a lot of things after, but Klaus’ mind drifts away, drifts to meet the voice in his head. 

His dreams get more vivid. 

He wakes up with blood running past his lips.

***

One day he learns what police brutality is. Accidentally, he might add — he’s had six peaceful months with Jill, Keechie and their friends — well, if you cross out all the nosebleeds and night terrors. And one day, which is an incredibly shitty one, Dallas PD decides that local hippies smoke too much weed. Klaus is aware that he looks like a man who hasn’t shaved for said six months, Klaus is aware of the joint in his hand. Maybe if he distracts the police, the others will get some time to get in the bus and leave. Maybe he’s dressed up a bit brighter than the rest of the group — those blue pajamas are so _boring,_ Klaus can’t stand it.

The officer yells,

“Get in the car, queer!” 

Klaus doesn’t like his tone. Klaus doesn’t remember doing anything queer-y today. 

“Oh, huh, how did you know, pumpkin?” he looks the man in the eye. “Got some little gaydar in your panties, right?”

Klaus dodges the blow — this is an instinct as he squats down and ducks under the officer’s fist — he’s lucky, he’s just saved his own teeth from getting knocked out. And the cop is, in fact, out of luck. Klaus sees red when he gets into the fight, and his body just knows what to do — kick, kick, squat. Kick in the balls as the drastic measure, uppercut, uppercut, oh —

Maybe he’s not the best fighter, but he gets up to his feet again. And again, biting the cop’s hand and spitting blood at his partner, screaming,

“Run!”

Klaus can’t understand why the others don’t help him, surrounding them like statues. 

“Who’s he talking to?”

Klaus sees the bus — their bus — on the road, driving away, leaving him in the PD’s greedy arms. 

“Who are you talking to, queer?”

“Is that how your daddy calls you when... Ugh,” Klaus coughs, and something inside of him is probably damaged, but it was worth it. 

And then he looks around. And he realizes one thing — a lot of things — as if somebody has ripped the curtain off the furniture — the ones who surround them are not even _alive._ There’s a gunshot wound in Jill’s forehead, blood thick and oily as it slides down her face; Keechie’s neck is bent at a weird angle, but they keep smiling, whispering, _now you know._ They’re not the only ones who lost their disguise, looking just disgusting now — slit wrists, slit throats, guts and blood no longer hidden — the living members of the community have just left him to die there, and the dead ones are no help. He’s paralyzed by terror, he’s been hanging out with the _ghosts,_ with his hallucinations for _so_ long — of course, he didn’t see them eat or change their clothes, but was that really necessary? 

“Oh, my God,” Klaus whines, feeling the cop’s hand tighten around his neck. “Let me go!” 

They don’t let him go.

A rubber stick hits his temple, and his consciousness is gone before his body hits the ground.

***

“What the Hell are you doing in my head?”

“I’m Ben, and I’m your...”

“I don’t care who you are! Enough of that! Just,” Klaus slams his fists against the table. “Stop it. Piss off.”

It’s been almost three months since Klaus’ Holbrook Sanitarium admission. He can’t tell if he’s getting better — there are the days when he forces himself to vomit after taking his pills, there are the days when it just… Happens. He knows it’s not healthy, he knows the nurses are going to notice his weight loss anyway, but he can’t let them win, they don’t let him remember. He needs to stay safe, and _Ben_ begs him to listen.

“I’m not a lunatic, okay?”

Actual lunatics around Klaus nod, sometimes they applaud when Klaus talks to the air for too long. He’s sitting in the playroom with the others, trying to look normal for everyone. Probably talking to himself in public is his new “normal.”

“You don’t belong here,” _Ben_ says. “But you need to blend in.”

“I can’t blend in,” Klaus grumbles. “They don’t even know how to play Scrabble.” 

“Play chess then,” there’s the obvious eye-rolling intonation in Ben’s voice.

“Chess? Too boring.”

“I’m your brother, by the way.”

“Shut up and don’t mess with my healing.”

“You’re not sick, Klaus.”

“Huh, tell _them,”_ Klaus nods at the two guys coming to him already. Bigger than him. Heavier. Taller. And Klaus’ mind just switches into the Provoke Them and Piss Them Off mode. 

“Hey assholes!” he shouts.

They grin, flexing their wrists.

“This queer is being too loud today, don’t you think?”

“Is that my last name?” Klaus turns to them, smiling as wide as he can. “If so, you’re gonna have to marry me to take it.”

“I heard you’re sucking dicks for cigs,” one of the nurses says.

“Heard the same about you, got a cig in my pocket, wanna go find a room for us?” 

Another guy whistles. 

“Got a big mouth, huh? What else can you do with it?”

Klaus clicks his tongue. 

“Not my type. Sorry to disappoint.”

“So you’re not denying you are into dicks?” 

Klaus gets up to leave the room — he’s certainly not allowed to do that — but he does that anyway to make the nurses go mad just because he wants to see their emotions overtaking them. Emotions make people _weak,_ especially when they’re your enemies. And then, one of the nurses slaps his ass in front of the whole room. Klaus takes a few deep breaths, hearing a “it’s a bad idea” in his head.

“I know it’s a bad idea,” Klaus replies. 

And he pounces on the guy who slapped him.

It’s not even a proper fight, because Klaus didn’t have much practice since the day he was admitted — no, _locked up_ here — but he still knows _where_ to hit the rival to cause some real damage. But they have syringes — Klaus is on the floor with his arms pinned behind his back, and there’s somebody’s boot on his cheek. Klaus’ lip bleeds, his face sticks to the dirty linoleum. They’re gonna break his jaw if he moves.

There’s a pinch in the crook of his elbow, and,

“Sleep well, princess.”

***

“I told you it was a bad idea.”

“Yeah, you did,” Klaus slurs out. He’s got no energy to peel his eyelids open. “Now what?”

He’s vaguely aware he’s lying face down in something watery and sticky, and he can’t move his arms to roll away from the puddle. 

“You had seizures,” the voice enlightens him. 

“I don’t remember… Anything.”

“I know. That’s why I need you to look at me.”

Klaus doesn’t enjoy lying on his back because of the straitjacket, and because he’s afraid he might start throwing up again. But he opens his eyes. Everything is bleary, and the walls of the room he’s in are dirty-white and soft, and so is the floor. It reeks of vomit and sweat, and Klaus tries to sit up to get away from the stench. 

“Look at… You?”

The static noise in his head is overwhelming, and he has no idea who’s this Asian guy he’s talking to. He’s dressed in black, which refers to one of Klaus’ nightmares, but apart from that he got nothing. 

“I’m Ben.”

“You’re dead?” 

Ben nods.

“Bingo.”

“Sorry?”

“Not your fault.”

“Oh… Good,” Klaus sags against the wall. “Good to know.”

“You need to get out of here.”

“No shit, Casper. Got any _good_ ideas then?”

Ben falters. 

“Yeah, sure. Try to wiggle to get rid of the straitjacket.”

“To _wiggle?”_ Klaus hacks up laughter. “Are you serious, Benerino?” 

This is not the right time, but Ben gives him a strained smile. 

_“Benerino._ Huh. As if the _old_ you is coming back.” 

Klaus wiggles, but the belts behind his back are too tight, and his muscles and his joints are weeping. His bones weep too, and his brain still doesn’t want to cooperate with his empty stomach. Klaus hits the back of his head on the wall, defeated and helpless. And then he notices one more thing.

“I can’t see any other ghosts.”

Ben thinks, rubbing his chin before saying,

“That’s because of the shit they’ve pumped you with.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a recovering drug-addict, Klaus. Your powers… Shit, do I really have to say that? Your powers aren’t working when you’re high.”

Klaus feels himself slip down the wall once again as the after-effects crash down on him.

“But I can still see you?”

“You can always see me. Or well, you _could._ Because we’re brothers,” Ben says, careful. “Well. Adopted.”

Ben sounds sad, and Klaus feels guilty — he wants to remember him, or his life, or his powers. It affects him, it hurts, and the sleeves of the straitjacket don’t let him breathe. Or maybe it’s his fractured ribs. 

“Why couldn’t I see you earlier?”

“You _banned_ me. I thought that was because of the stress, but. You banned _me,_ because it was easier than to ban the others.”

“I could still hear your voice,” Klaus swallows around the lump in his throat. “I’m not a lunatic, right?” 

“You’re not, no matter what they say,” Ben assures him. “You need to get out.”

Klaus nods. 

There’s no way he can take the straitjacket off without dislocating his shoulder, and he just needs to decide which arm he needs more. He focuses, he tries, but he’s too dizzy to do anything, and the rhythmic blinking of a single lamp on the ceiling makes him feel seasick. 

Klaus closes his eyes. 

“I need a minute.” 

“Well, we don’t have any time for this,” is what he hears while he tries to make his body work again. Is that just another after-effect? “You’re all over the news, idiot. Did you _really_ try to fight the police while getting high?” 

“It was just… Weed,” Klaus defends himself. “For my anxiety, you know? Also I suppose I’m claustrophobic, and this room is about to give me a heart attack.”

 _“I_ _will_ give you a heart attack if you won’t shut up.”

Well, that sounds promising. Well, that kick in the hip really hurts, and the new voice sounds too childish. 

“Klaus, roll _the fuck_ over so I can untie you.” 

“Aren’t you too angry, ghost kid?”

Klaus does as he was told, and soon enough he can breathe, and he realizes how tight his chest was. He coughs, almost retching his lungs up, pressing his palm to his bruised side. It hurts. His ribs feel like they’ve been rearranged, scattered across. He whimpers softly, seeing stars and explosions as he’s being dragged up, sideways, still disoriented. 

“Get up, dammit, Klaus!”

“How can you touch me?” 

“What?”

“Ben said I can’t see the ghosts when I’m high, which I pretty sure am right now, but you… Oh my God,” he clamps his hand over his open mouth. “Are you my brother too?!” 

Klaus looks around, seeing Ben nod. 

“His name is Five. He’s not dead.” 

“Said the _dead_ guy.” 

“Klaus?” 

“That’s still my name, can you please stop touching me, because that…” 

Five — does he really like _math_ that much? — grabs Klaus’ arm, and does something that Klaus can’t understand. One moment they’re in the white room, and then, they’re standing outside, the sun is shining, and Klaus leans his shoulder on the side of the dumpster not to fall over. 

“...that’s creepy,” Klaus finishes with a heavy exhale. “If I puke again it’ll be your fault.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Five asks. Then he _blinks_ himself on the roof of a garage and steals a bunch of clothes hanging on the rope. “Take it,” he grumbles, shoving the clothes into Klaus’ hands. 

And he turns away. 

Klaus sighs and takes off his white pajamas that’s been his only fashion option all these months. Five got him a backless black blouse that definitely belonged to a lady and black pants that barely cover his ankles, and maybe they are too tight, and maybe they look too bad along with these soft hospital shoes. But Klaus doesn’t mind. He doesn’t care, he just wants to take a bath and sleep for two weeks straight. Klaus shoves his hand under the blouse; the dog tags on his chest kept him sane. He thinks so, at least.

“Where are we going?”

“To meet the others. It was such a pain in the ass to find you, we thought you were dead. And you moron were just drooling all over the floor in the nuthouse, I should have known!” 

Klaus mentally filters all the insults. 

“The others?”

“Are you kidding me?”

Klaus stops in the middle of the street. 

“Listen, _Five._ Just… Listen. You act like you know me, and I’m cool with that, but I don’t remember shit. I landed in some alleyway, and I had no memories at all. Then I saw corpses, then I found out that my friends were dead, I fought the cops and ended up in the… Holbrook Sanitarium. Okay? I don’t know,” he pauses. “I don’t know what’s going on.” 

Five’s tone softens.

“Your nose is bleeding.”

“Shit,” Klaus wipes his nostrils with the back of his hand. “See? It happens every time when I try to remember. Also, headaches. Also, dreams. Also, I think you’re dead because I can never be sure that you’re not.” 

When Five tries to grab his arm again, Klaus staggers backwards. 

“Can we… Can we just walk?” 

“Just wanted to save us some time.”

Five’s wearing a navy-blue school uniform and black knee-high socks; none of that looks familiar. Klaus sways, unsteady on his feet, and they eventually take the bus to get to their headquarter. He’s still blissfully high, he doesn’t hear the ghosts shriek and bawl. Five keeps glaring at him. Random people keep glaring at him. At them.

Five didn’t mention some shabby TV store, but well — Five didn’t mention a lot of things. 

“La petite mort, la petite mort,” Klaus says as they enter the room full of people.

Klaus is ready for a surge of memories rushing back into his brain, but it never happens. They’re just random strangers; one guy is huge, another one is playing with a silver dagger; one woman smiles at him, coming to hug him while the smaller one keeps looking at her shoes.

“Uh, hi everyone?”

“Klaus, thank God, you’re here! I missed you!” the smiley woman squeezes him in her embrace. He awkwardly pats her back. “I thought you were…” 

“He doesn’t remember you, Allison,” Five cuts her off. “Or me. Or anyone, or anything. Probably hit his head on the way down.” 

“Or he’s just pretending,” the Big Guy says.

“Shut it, Luther, he’s just high,” the Dagger Guy says. “I mean, look at his pupils. He just needs a few hours and he’ll be fine.”

“Guys, I think…” 

“Vanya? Why didn’t _you_ think when you killed Pogo? Ended the world?” 

“Stop it, Diego!” Allison snaps. “Klaus, sit down.” 

Klaus sits down. 

Listens to them. They all hate each other, hate him as well; Allison is kind enough to show him her umbrella tattoo, calling him a brother. He likes her. 

“How can I be sure that you guys are real?”

“Because you’re high, but you can still see us?..” Diego frowns. Klaus frowns too.

“That’s because we’re family?” 

“He got drugged in the asylum,” Five says. “I think he’s coming down so I’d recommend you to leave him alone if you don’t want to clean barf after him.”

“Hey, you rude gremlin!” Klaus snaps his fingers. “You look like twelve, but you also have a tattoo, and you’re most likely a ghost just like them, why are you always the one to talk?”

Five doesn’t bat an eye. 

“I’m older than all of you.” 

“So shut up like a grown-up man? Why are you so angry? Or is that like, some weird-ass dementia?”

“I’m fifty-eight!”

“Too old. Dead. Shut up.” 

The Big Guy — Luther — stands up. 

“We need to discuss our plan.”

“We have a plan?” Diego smirks. “JFK is gonna be assassinated on Friday, and we got to stop it!” 

“Oh, I knew that,” Klaus mutters. “Something was wrong all the time.” 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing here, he doesn’t know what they’re talking about; that small girl — Vanya, who doesn’t even have the umbrella tattoo — ended the world in 2019, and the time traveling old fart in the kid’s body threw them a few decades back. They’re in their early thirties, but they have some real age difference due to said time traveling despite being born on the same day. Klaus never remembered his birth date, so now it’s a pleasure to find out the right one; he has a last name just like all of them except Allison. Klaus would like to meet her husband, it sounds like he is a good man.

They get mad when Klaus asks the questions.

He’s not even sure if they believe him at all. Klaus holds the dog tags, thinking of _David_ again, wanting to find him so desperately as if that guy’s house is his only shelter. And then there’s a brief flash in his brain — he sees the hardware store David’s working at. It hits Klaus’ skull like a frying pan, and it hurts, and the next thing he’s aware of is Allison shoving tissues into his nostrils and holding his head.

“Klaus?” 

“What happened?”

“You’re asking me? You suddenly jerked forward, and your nose started to bleed,” she says, helping him wipe the mess off his chin.

“Or well, that’s cocaine,” Five says with a shit-eating grin. “No offense, Klaus.”

“Get lost,” Klaus pants. He looks around the room again, he wants to see Ben and maybe get some support from him, but he’s not here. 

The conversation continues, there is a mission, and Diego’s new girlfriend is problematic. Klaus is useless (they mention it multiple times), and Vanya keeps blaming herself, because now Allison’s daughter doesn’t exist.

 _The hardware store._ Klaus feels a full-body itch when he thinks of that place. 

“Okay, enough of that,” he gets up, waving his GOODBYE hand at his siblings. “Good luck with saving the world — again — you’ll do better this time.” 

Before he makes it to the door, Five materializes right in front of him, pushing him back, drilling a hole in Klaus’ chest with his bony finger.

“Sit your ass down, you’re a part of it too,” he orders and not the way Klaus likes it.

“Am I?” he giggles. 

“JFK is about to die, doomsday is coming, and you’re just walking away when we can change it?” 

“Change _how?”_ Klaus turns to Diego who calls him out. “To sacrifice myself to change the timeline I don’t even recall? I bet if it was her who had amnesia,” he points at Vanya. “Or you,” Klaus shrugs. “They would be much nicer, and they would help you, they would believe _you._ Am I right?” he doesn’t know where these words are coming from, or why, or what happened between him and these people in the past, but he’s just so pissed at them, at himself, at the ghosts and his powers he can’t even control. 

“Klaus, it’s not…” Luther starts, but Klaus doesn’t want to listen.

“I’d give everything to just _remember_ my life despite the level of its shitty-ness, okay? I mean, you all are sexy and so on, but… I gotta leave.”

They don’t stop him, of course they don’t. There’s somebody’s wallet on the table downstairs, and Klaus really needs money, he hasn’t eaten in almost three days, he needs a place to sleep. His siblings keep talking behind his back; he doesn’t judge them. He walks down the street, full of nervous energy as he sees the hardware store. 

“Promise me you can handle this. Whatever happens.” 

“Jesus Christ! Ben!” Klaus clutches at his heart. “Warn a guy, you creep.” 

“Just be careful,” Ben says.

Klaus gnaws on his lip.

“He’s important to me, isn’t he?”

“You’ll find out.” 

Klaus needs to dot the I’s; the dog tags keep burning his chest as he enters the store. There’s the kid behind the counter: blue eyes, wide smile and a name tag _David_ on his striped polo shirt. 

“Can I help you?”

Klaus doesn’t know where to begin; the only evidence he got is the chain with the dog tags on his neck. There’s the paint mixing machine in the corner; it’s working, rattling, rattling, rattling and whirring like a hungry animal. 

“Sir, are you okay?” 

_Gunshots, explosions, people dying for nothing, and there is somebody’s blood on his hands — Medic! Medic! Dave, no, please, no! — more blood, more stench of burnt flesh and guts._ Klaus is struck by lightning, Klaus oh-so-suddenly sees the man dying in his arms — blue eyes, a smile that will never touch his lips anymore — and a gaping hole in his chest. The machine keeps working and rattling, shaking the shit out of some random blue paint.

Klaus wordlessly gives David — _Dave_ — his dog tags. 

“Is that… How?” Dave looks at them as if they’re gonna bite him. 

“I don’t know,” Klaus swallows. “Don’t go to Vietnam, Dave, please, don’t.” 

Dave stares at him open-mouthed, dropping the tags on the counter. 

“I know, it sounds like I’m crazy…” Klaus points at the dog tags. “I have some sort of amnesia, and this is the only thing I remember now. Please, don’t listen to them, the war is not a thing that turns you to a man, you don’t have to prove anything, just…” he feels like he’s about to sob. “Just listen to me.” 

Dave cracks his knuckles, and Klaus is sure he’s gonna punch him — he would have punched himself too if he only could — but Dave just takes the dog tags again and looks at them closely.

“I’m moving out next week,” he suddenly says. “I don’t… I don’t know, I don’t even know your name, but…”

“It’s Klaus.”

“Klaus, _fine._ I’m not gonna listen to my family. I don’t wanna go to war and die there,” he clenches his fists in despair. “Don’t tell Brian, Klaus, I’m begging you, oh shit, wait… _He_ sent you?!”

Klaus feels hot spikes of panic rushing through his veins.

“What? No, no, no, calm down, please, calm down. I don’t know _Brian,_ okay?” Klaus takes the dog tags back. “I’m not gonna tell anyone. Okay? Good, we’re good.”

Klaus doesn’t want him to freak out, and Dave gives him one of those “do I know you?” weird looks. Klaus is about to pray — Klaus remembers him now, they _love_ each other — _don’t listen to them, Dave, live your own life._ Klaus tells him a few other details that come to his memory, like Dave’s favorite song and his favorite book he hasn’t read yet; he knows he looks like a stalker, but this is just how his mind works at the moment.

Dave promises him not to enlist. 

The dog tags feel heavy on Klaus’ neck.

*** 

David from the hardware store is nothing like _Dave_ from Klaus’ dreams — this is what Ben says too — Klaus fought in Vietnam in 1968, got plenty of tattoos there, fell in love and lost the love of his life in ten months. Time travel paradox is a bitch, and so is Five, and Klaus’ feelings for Dave are technically illegal.

Technically, Klaus is in trouble. 

Technically, he could’ve gotten drunk right about now and end this day laying passed out in a ditch somewhere. This sounds like a plan. Another layer of trauma is revealed, another wound, another barely healed scar.

“I think I’m an alcoholic too, right?”

“Klaus, don’t —”

“Or what?” Klaus stops next to the liquor store. “You’re gonna hit me with your little ghost fist? Cry your little ghost tears?”

“I just… I just want you to get better, okay? You’re gonna make everything worse.”

Ben is pissed. Klaus enjoys that. 

Ben doesn’t stop him, Ben can’t — and this is the _first_ time when Klaus feels powerful — he needed to get drunk since he landed, all those months. Now he’s gonna make his dream come true since he’s got nothing to lose. He buys whiskey, and more whiskey, and more whiskey, almost feeling sorry for the guy — some poor Elliott as his ID says — whose wallet he’s stolen; he’s gonna give it back to him. Maybe. He sees Ben, he hears Ben, he hears some other ghosts begging for help again and again — all the cowboys in Texas tend to hide their bullet wounds under their hats. Klaus doesn’t know how to react after seeing too many. He drinks, and he drinks some more to make all of them go away; Ben is still here though, saying something about “relapsing” over and over again.

Klaus doesn’t care. 

Klaus is drunk, and the bottle in his hand is half empty, and another one _is_ empty. He doesn’t know where to go or what to do. He sits next to the dumpster, again, and thinks, and thinks, and thinks about Dave — about the love he can’t afford; about his family who clearly don’t care about him. About the end of the world his sister might cause. He hates to admit it, but his breakdown was just a matter of time; he would have relapsed anyway, even if that wasn’t Dave-related.

“Did we save Dave’s life though?” Klaus asks, voice gravelly.

And Ben says,

“Seems so,” then he adds, “we should go to Allison.”

“Would she be happy so see… Us?”

Klaus presses his palm to his chest and belches. 

“You can give her that guy’s wallet,” Ben shrugs. “You’re better than that, Klaus.”

Klaus looks up at him.

“Do you know the address?”

Ben smiles with the corner of his mouth,

“I do.”

*** 

“Ray?”

Klaus freezes with his hand raised up.

“¡Hola! ¿Está... Allison... En casa buena?” he blurts out, staring at the little crack in the door frame. 

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Allison opens the door wider. “Klaus? What happened?”

He’s still squeezing the bottleneck in his hand, and stepping over the threshold is a challenge.

“I just need a place to crash for one night.”

His speech is awfully jumbled, but she understands.

“Couch is all yours.”

He drops the bottle on the floor; he drops himself onto the couch, and his limbs go slack as soon as his head hits the pillow.

“You wanna talk about it?” he hears. He doesn’t respond. “Okay, we wait till tomorrow.”

Klaus is vaguely aware of the blanket being thrown over his shoulders. 

***

Klaus wakes up on the floor. His head is pounding as the rays of light from the window keep burning his eyes — he’s in the kitchen, and his shirt is gone. Here’s Ben lying on the floor next to him, face to face and eye to eye, and Klaus is anything but comfortable. 

“How are we feeling this morning?” Ben asks, mockery intended. Klaus closes his eyes with his forearm instead of answering. Ben keeps saying something about the rock bottoms, counting them, but the buzzing in Klaus’ ears is too loud to listen to him. 

“I passed out on a couch,” Klaus squeaks out, lifting his head up so he doesn’t lick the floor as he speaks. 

“You went to take a piss and got lost on the way back.”

“Great, what else did you see?”

“You think I’m _that_ interested?”

“Fair enough.”

Klaus rolls over onto his back when he hears the footsteps. Ben does the same, staring at the ceiling. Klaus is waiting for another mental punch — from Allison this time — and he’s surprised when he hears a quiet,

“Are you okay?”

“Peaches and cream,” he mutters. “How are you?”

“Well, where to begin…”

Allison sits down next to him, huddled into the gap between the sink and the fridge. Klaus is about to weep as she hugs him again, softly, mindful of his bruised ribs. She says they’re not broken, she says he should be careful. Allison says that her marriage is in trouble, and he says that he’s tired of getting beaten both physically and emotionally.

“I gotta go,” he says. Headache pins him down, a migraine-like one, with blind spots and nausea, and well, he’s glued to the floor again. “I’m just hangover.”

All the sounds get distant again, and when he opens his eyes, he sees Allison and Ben looking at him, both concerned. Klaus smiles at them to let them know he’s alive.

“I’ll make breakfast,” Allison says. “You’re not going anywhere until you stop passing out.”

Klaus finds his shirt under the table. He has no idea why. 

Allison keeps her promise. Klaus doesn’t want to overshare, because he doesn’t even know her, but she somehow _knows him,_ so maybe it’s fine.

“Sometimes they would add something to the food to keep _us_ calm, you know,” Klaus says, pushing scrambled eggs around the plate. “So it was safer,” he can’t say that out loud, just bringing two fingers to his lips and sticking his tongue out. “To do something about that. Sorry, you don’t want to know that.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’m not trying to drug you, I swear.”

He knows. 

“What is your power, sis?” he asks, fake-cheerfully, noticing an instant flash of sadness in her brown eyes. 

“I can control and bend people’s minds,” she says, taking a cup of coffee for distraction. “We call it “rumoring.”

“Can you _rumor_ me to remember?”

Allison lets out a choked up laughter.

“Well, that was harsh.”

“Please, please,” he drops the fork and takes her hands. “I _need_ it, Allison, please.”

“What if it will hurt you?”

“It won’t!”

Allison hesitates, fiddling with the ties in her bathrobe. 

“Please,” Klaus repeats.

“Okay,” she caves. “I heard a rumor,” she looks him in the eye. “That you remembered everything.”

Klaus closes his eyes, getting ready for a pang of pain, but nothing happens.

“What the Hell?” Allison gasps.

“Uh, try again?”

“I heard a rumor that you got your memory back.”

Nothing. And again, nothing.

Klaus is so disappointed he bangs his head against the table. 

“Well, at least we tried,” he mumbles. “I fought in Vietnam. Also everyone calls me a queer, and I’m in love with a man whose dog tags I’m wearing. I found him. He’s so young… Just a kid, you know? He doesn’t even know he’s gay yet. He’s going to run away from his homophobic uncle Ryan.”

“Brian,” Ben corrects him.

“Brian,” Klaus agrees. “That asshole wants to send him to the war.”

“Oh.”

“You think I got locked up in the nuthouse for reasons?” 

“What? No, of course not,” Allison winces. “It’s just… Your life’s tougher than I thought.”

“Yeah, and that’s just less than the year that I remember. And I’m like, thirty-something?”

“Yeah, we all are thirty-something,” Allison chuckles. “Also, I forgot to tell you,” she takes a letter from the shelf. “We have a family dinner tonight. So I’m actually glad you found me.”

Klaus takes the letter, this is an invitation.

“Sir Reginald Hargreeves?”

“Our Dad,” Allison points out.

“We hate him,” Ben adds. “You and Diego especially.”

Klaus scratches his neck, confused.

“And he hates us back?”

“Not yet,” Ben says. “But he will.”

***

Klaus hates elevators. The fear of getting stuck here with his six siblings — although one of them is dead — is overwhelming. He’s all itchy and fidgety, and they’re moving up too slowly. They’re on their way to some Tiki Lounge bar to meet their asshole father who hasn’t even adopted them yet. Klaus wishes he could drink anything stronger than just water this morning, but he eventually ran out of his stashes, and Allison didn’t want to be his enabler. Instead, she gave him one of her husband’s shirts since the one Klaus used to wear was all sweat-stained and stinky. He looks better, he can say, and the elevator dings, stopping with a jolt. Klaus’ heart clenches, he doesn’t want to _die_ here, but the automatic doors open, and there’s the hallway in front of them.

There’s the bar, there’s the man with the monocle waiting for them. _For them?_ Seems so. 

Klaus wants to hide from this man’s glance, he doesn’t believe that all of them are _his_ kids. They argue, again, about the end of the world and their superpowers: Luther is super strong, Diego can throw and curve the objects, and Allison can make him punch himself in the face. 

Five introduces all of them,

“Klaus. Can commune with the dead, doesn’t remember anything from his past, so don’t pay attention if he ways something stupid.” 

“Hey, kid, can we not put labels on me?” 

Klaus sounds drunk, Klaus feels drunk. A pineapple on the plate explodes, and Vanya just says a little _oops._

“So you _can_ control your power?” Klaus is sincerely curious. “How did you blow up the Moon then?” 

Allison squeezes his hand under the table. 

“I’ll explain later.” 

Their meeting turns to a freakshow — they can’t speak in order, the talking conch is shattered, their voices are overlapping each other, and everything is too loud. Those two old cowboys in the corner glare at him way too hard. Ben whispers something into Klaus’ ear, but Klaus doesn’t listen to him, sipping on his margarita and chewing on the straw when the glass is empty.

They can’t work together, this is what Reginald says too, and it hurts. 

Seeing Diego stutter hurts too. Klaus suddenly wants to comfort him and pat his shoulder, but Diego pushes his hand away. Well, okay. More shit hits the fan, and Luther rips his shirt on his chest — is he a _gorilla?_ — and this is the end of the “party.”

“Enough,” Reginald says. “I would never adopt such dumb children who can’t even turn their thoughts into words.” 

And suddenly, Five says,

“He’s got a point.”

Five stays at the bar to talk to Reginald some more.

The others leave together. 

“What did we want from that man?” Klaus asks Allison on the way back to the elevator. 

“To help us save the world?”

“He doesn’t look like a guy who helps people on a daily basis.” 

She doesn’t respond. The doors close again, and Klaus closes his eyes not to let the walls shrink and squeeze him. He’s choking on his fear and feels like he might just faint any second. 

“Klaus?”

“I’m fine.”

It’s Ben, and it’s not helping. His siblings apparently don’t believe _them._

“Just breathe, okay?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Klaus wheezes, teeth clenched and skin sweaty.

Diego says, 

“Team Zero my ass.”

Turns out, Vanya wrote a book about them, and this is the next topic to discuss. Luther says something about Diego’s girlfriend being related to the Commission, Diego says something about the Moon and Luther’s virginity. And, it’s not even a fight, but Luther pushes Diego, and the domino effect happens: Diego stumbles and pushes Klaus, and Klaus loses his footing. Ben tries to catch him.

Ben _can’t_ catch him.

There’s a wave of cold energy rolling through Klaus’ body, the air in his lungs turns to jelly, and his mind slips away. He’s shaking and falling to his knees, trying to hold himself up against the wall, but he can’t, as if his body doesn’t belong to him anymore. There are short flashes of visions in his brain: fungus-covered stone walls, tombs and gnarled hands, white eyes and scrunched up faces, and _let me out! Let me out!_ His body is too small, the ground is too cold, and the figure with the light behind their back is too violent, locking him up again.

“Klaus?”

Klaus’ teeth chatter, his shirt sticks to his back when he comes to.

“Klaus?”

“Is he drunk?”

“Of course, he is.” 

“Hey, look alive, bro.”

He’s on the floor, and Ben is the closest one to him. Ben kind of looks like he won the lottery, but still can’t take the prize.

“Did I… Did I possess you?” 

Klaus is so exhausted he can’t even speak. 

The elevator dings again. 

“Okay, get up,” Luther crouches down beside him. “Jeez, you’re burning up.” 

“Just… Leave me?” Klaus tries. It sounds pathetic, and Diego, Vanya and Allison leave the elevator to give them more room. 

Klaus doesn’t want to be touched, not anymore, because there was something else, something bad, something disturbing. He was numb, high out of his mind, and there were hands on his body too. Luther leans in to pick him up, and Klaus squirms, accidentally kicking him in the balls. 

“Shit,” Luther winces. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

And then he grabs Klaus’ ankle and drags him out of this metal trap. 

The world shifts far too quickly, and getting some of his memories back was a painful process. 

“I’m gonna throw up.” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

Klaus swallows, trying to get rid of Luther anchoring him, and then Luther grabs him again, arms wrapped around his midsection, and hauls him outside.

“No, please, I’m just…”

He just can’t hold it, his innards are a mess on the asphalt by his feet. Luther curses, Luther almost drops him, and Klaus ends up on his knees again. Memories make him feel sick, be sick, and there’s the hand on his back, and Vanya keeps saying something about the ambulance. 

And, 

“You didn’t listen to him.” 

And,

_“You?!”_

When there’s nothing to throw up anymore, Klaus catches his breath and looks up — and realizes he’s not the only one who can see Ben in an aureole of the soft blue gleaming. 

“Ben, we missed you!” 

They can hug him, he can hug them back.

“Klaus, how did you?..”

“I don’t know,” Klaus spits on the asphalt. “I don’t know.”

“He lost his memory when we landed,” Ben explains. “He’s not lying, I… I feel it. There’s the connection between us, since the day I died. And… In the elevator I accidentally possessed him, I don’t know how, but I could feel everything, I wanted to touch everything.”

Ben’s frame flickers.

This is probably the most impressive thing Klaus has ever done in his life, his siblings can’t stop staring. 

“Can you… Stay?” Vanya chokes back tears. 

Ben shakes his head. 

“Klaus has a fever. I don’t want to make it worse.” 

Fair enough. If Ben could just feel things, _Klaus_ was the one to vomit his guts up anyway.

Ben smiles at them one more time and disappears. Klaus curls into a foetal position on the ground, trembling and breathing heavily.

“We’re going back to Elliott’s,” Diego says. “You’re with us, bro?” 

Klaus shoves his shaking hand into his pocket, fishing out Elliott’s wallet. 

“I stole it. I’m sorry. There’s some cash left.” 

Diego takes it and smirks.

“You little shit.” 

“I’m taking him,” Allison says. “You guys go warn Elliott, and we’ll arrive tomorrow.” 

“And I need to talk to Sissy,” Vanya says. “I will also be back tomorrow, I swear.” 

They let her go too.

Luther and Diego take the car, Allison calls the taxi, and Klaus tries to pull himself together. 

Ben is nowhere to be found. 

***

Klaus likes Allison’s husband. 

She explains to him that Klaus is her brother, _and yes, Ray, he’s one of my_ white _brothers, and I gave him your shirt. He’s sick, he has amnesia, and he can also talk to the ghosts._ She leaves them alone in the living room then, and Klaus drops his head on Raymond’s shoulder.

“I’m a mess, man.” 

“You just had a tough day,” Raymond says. 

Klaus scoffs.

“A couple.” 

“Yeah, a couple.”

Klaus feels like he’s been twisted inside out. Physically. Emotionally. He can still taste bile in his mouth, he can’t move. Half asleep, he feels Raymond get up from the couch and go upstairs to join Allison there. So when Klaus hears the knocking on the door, he tries his best to ignore it, but it annoys him; he sits up on the couch as both Allison and Raymond get downstairs. Some blonde guys are selling vacuums — or wait — they definitely aren’t. You can’t sell vacuums at midnight, right? 

Well, Klaus wanted to see how his sister fights.

Well, now Klaus sees it. 

Raymond is probably used to all the odd plot twists, because he’s helping her, and they roll across the living room with one of the men — they call them _the Swedes._ One of them has the scar across his eye, and Allison doesn’t hesitate to stick the vacuum tube into the socket as he attacks her while Raymond tackles another one to the floor. Klaus rushes to help him, holding the man down with his bare hands while another man, now one-eyed, bleeds all over Allison’s face. 

“Hold him! Klaus!”

The Swede is strong, he can throw both Raymond and Klaus aside, and scramble away from them. 

Allison is on her feet again, holding her hands up and saying,

“I heard a rumor that you killed your brother.”

The Swede’s eyes turn as white as his hair. 

And it doesn’t take long for him to do a vile thing — he locks his hands around the injured man’s throat and throws him onto the couch, and chokes, smashes his windpipe while he keeps shedding bloody tears. The man’s legs jerk a few times before he goes limp on the couch. On the _couch_ Klaus used to sleep on. The living Swede realizes what he’s done, the white is gone off his irises, and there’s the fear and regret instead. Klaus doesn’t know why Allison or Raymond don’t stop him when he runs out of their house. They freeze, looking at each other with some unreadable facial expressions. 

Klaus feels like he needs to break the ice. 

Klaus rolls up his sleeves, 

“Are we burning or burying?”

Allison says, 

“Elliott’s dead.”

“Oh my God, how?”

“One of them,” Allison nods at the body. “Tortured and killed him. I got a call from Luther.” 

“Babe, we need to get rid of this one,” Raymond points out. 

Klaus says,

“I’ll help.” 

The moment he touches the body he realizes he shouldn’t have done that at all — he drowns in a pool of energy, his lungs are _not_ his lungs anymore, and his consciousness snaps in and out. There are the names he doesn’t know, there are people dying horribly all across the world, their blood is on his hands. _Otto,_ his name is Otto, Klaus doesn’t exist in this body anymore. He has to kill these people in the house and then find his brother…

“You, get out of my brother’s body!”

His soul is being ripped out of his body, literally, _Klaus_ gasps and falls on the floor, seeing Ben wrestle with the one-eyed Swedish ghost, using _tentacles_ to kill him for the second time. It looks like an odd dream, and Klaus’ shirt is all drenched in sweat as his fever breaks. He’s aware that neither Allison nor Raymond can see the epic fight that takes a place in their living room, but he doesn’t care. He’s been in the nuthouse for months, after all, everyone knows it. Ben wins, shoving his bentacles back underneath his leather jacket. The Swede — Otto — is gone, but Klaus can’t forget the snippets of his memories. 

And there’s one more thing that makes his skin crawl —

If Ben and Otto could possess him, _the others_ can too.

***

Diego and a tiny analyst from the Commission promise to take care of Raymond’s favorite carpet. Klaus overhears their conversation as he and Ben sit in the kitchen; “let the adults talk”, Five said. Raymond can see Five too, Klaus is a bit pissed about it. And when they’re _talking,_ Ben is his only companion. 

“We need to do this again.”

“We are _not_ doing this again, Klaus.” 

Ben’s been saying the same phrase over and over again in the past hour, but Klaus doesn’t really care. 

“Please? What can I do to bribe you?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t want to feel things again.” 

“I want, but,” Ben pauses. “It might be dangerous.” 

“So?”

“No, Klaus.”

“But why?”

“Because I don’t want to kill you. I’m hurting you,” Ben says, looking away. “I’m hurting you.” 

“No, no, you,” Klaus grabs him by the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer. “You helped me remember the fragments of my childhood when you possessed me. You helped, Ben.” 

Ben frowns. 

“What did you remember?”

“A mausoleum.”

“Sucks,” Ben sighs. “Are you sure?”

“Of course! I need my life back,” Klaus screws his eyes shut. “Do it,” he pats his chest. “Come on.”

“Uh-huh. Fine. Fine!”

Klaus is drowning in an energy jelly again, and all of his senses sharpen all of the sudden — the colors get brighter, the sounds get louder, the smells get pungent. There’s something inside of him, someone who can drive him like a car, drive him nuts. And he’s locked up inside of his own body like a kid in a mausoleum, but he’s aware of someone else’s presence. And the memories begin to crawl back: getting his first tattoo and smoking his first joint; missions, missions, missions, and he’s the lookout; Ben’s funeral and Ben appearing behind his back a few minutes after. Drugs. Rehabs. Torture, him with much shorter hair, Blue Bear and Pink Dog masks, boiling water trickling down his torso, cigarettes snuffed out into his arms; gunshots, helicopters, Dave. 

Withdrawal. 

The end of the world, 2019. 

An alley in Dallas, 1963. 

And a lot more. 

His brain feels like a balloon that’s about to burst. Klaus taps at the veins bulging on his temples, his head is on fire, his skin is. He can’t handle the possession, he can’t.

And now he remembers _everything._

He wakes up face-planted into Allison’s kitchen’s lovely floor, his cheeks are all wet with tears, drool and blood. Raymond shakes him by the shoulder, and Klaus leans against him, pressing his sleeve to his nose to staunch the bleeding. 

“Wow, that was intense,” he sniffles. 

Raymond shakes him one more time, making sure he’s awake. 

“Allison said you should go,” he looks around the kitchen. Klaus feels bad for bleeding all over the linoleum. “Are you alright? Your siblings are waiting.”

Klaus blinks at him. 

“What’s the matter?”

“There’s something wrong with your sister again.”

***

They didn’t save the president, but they can still try to save the world. Again. 

God bless Allison, she brought some clothes for Klaus to change, again, a black vest and a black coat that feels nice against his overheated skin. They’re driving to some farm — because there’s some kid whose powers are connected with Vanya’s — and Vanya is in love with some frau from said farm.

“By the way, I remember everything,” Klaus says. “We’re a family of assholes.”

“We’re just a bit… Dysfunctional,” Allison smiles with the corner of her mouth. 

Luther echoes,

“A bit.” 

Klaus feels something in his bones as they approach the farm, tiny tendrils of electricity run through his nerve endings, setting his muscles ablaze. Ben keeps looking at him, and Klaus feels a surge of energy filling him — for the first time since his epic landing — this is something new. As if he keeps forgetting what it feels like to be alive. 

The car stops, his forehead bumps against the passenger seat. 

“Is she… Inside?” Diego whispers. 

“Think so,” Luther replies. 

Five is the first to blink himself into the barn; he’s always been close to Vanya, and Klaus is still not sure whether he wants to know what catastrophe she’s caused in this timeline or not. He’s a walking disaster himself, he keeps looking around as they enter the barn one by one. There’s a whirlwind in the corner — and there’s a child rocking back and forth, surrounding himself with some protective shield. 

And there’s a blonde woman with the rifle. 

“Who are you?” she asks, her rifle asks. Her trigger finger doesn’t like wrong answers, it’s obvious. 

Klaus raises his hands up.

“They’re my family, Sissy,” Vanya says. “They’re not going to hurt Harlan.”

Sissy puts the rifle down.

Klaus leaves them while they’re trying to figure out how to stop Harlan’s hurricane; Klaus feels the need to check on what’s going on outside. He blankly rubs his temple to make his brain work.

“Where are you going?”

“Sh-h, Ben,” Klaus presses his forefinger to his lips as he peeks out of the barn.

He doesn’t like what he sees — there’s a woman in a vintage hat and with a mouthpiece in her hand; and there’s another woman, young, dressed in black. 

“Huh, guys?”

Klaus shudders and clutches at his heart when both Diego and Five behind his back exclaim,

“Shit!”

“We’re not happy to see them, are we?” Klaus can’t avert his gaze from them. They’re getting closer.

“That’s the Handler.”

“The _who?”_

“That’s my former employer.”

“That’s my ex-girlfriend. And also _my_ former employer.”

“Wow, you got a job, congrats,” Klaus says it as he means it. 

“Warn the others,” Five says before blinking himself and Diego closer to their visitors. 

Klaus gets back into the barn, the kid is still here, the whirlwind of energy is still here. Allison stands in the opposite corner, arms crossed over her chest. The rifle is still here too. 

“What are we doing though?”

“Waiting.”

“There are some angry women outside,” Klaus says. “If they start with Five and Diego, we might still have time for a last one hug.”

Sissy gives him a long look.

“Is he okay?”

“She’s got a point,” Ben glares at him. “Are you okay?”

His head hurts.

“Peachy,” he says. 

He’s not used to the memory hole being filled. He’s way too observant, and then he hears weird popping noises; then gunshots. Again. Sissy is about to get up and run to Harlan while Vanya still tries to break through the dome around him. The sounds get louder, Klaus covers his ears with his palms and runs to the door to take a look at what’s going on.

And he sees _them._

There is a war actually, and the women just stand in the middle of the field while hundreds of armed people with guns and briefcases run towards the barn. It’s impossible to see Five and Diego among them; they’re hiding somewhere in the hay, because it’s apparently too hard for Five to keep blinking Diego along with him all the time. Klaus leans against the wall, screwing his eyes shut as the rattling of the gunfire gets mixed with the wailing of the ghosts. Old ones, newcomers, all trying to get him. Luther grabs him by the back of his coat and covers him with his back, and Klaus is afraid to open his eyes and see his siblings in their spiritual form. 

“I know what to do,” Vanya says, getting up and walking past them.

“Vanya? Are you sure?” Allison touches her hand softly. 

“Yes,” Vanya nods, then turning to Sissy. “Stay here with Harlan.”

“If she accidentally blows up the Moon again, will we get one more chance to fix it?” Klaus asks himself, mostly, but Ben is here to reply. 

“Doubt it.”

“Well, let’s wish her good luck then.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Klaus sees that Vanya has improved her power-using skill — her sound wave nearly sweeps him off his feet, and he clings to the wall not to eat hay right there and then. The world around him turns white. So white it hurts his eyes, he covers his face with his forearm, and when the light fades, he sees the people with guns and briefcases lying on the ground, dead, surrounded by their own souls.

“They’re looking at me,” Klaus swallows hard. He’s never seen so many ghosts in his life.

“Be careful.” 

This is a warning.

Klaus knows what Ben means. His body is a shelter for the lost souls. 

And Diego’s ex-girlfriend is full of s… secrets. She blinks herself into the barn like Five — along with Five — she can throw knives even better than Diego, if that’s even possible. She nearly breaks Luther’s arm, and she _heard a rumor that Allison stopped breathing._ Her fight with Vanya is most impressive — it leaves all of them scattered across the field; and when their powers collide, the force of it sends all of them flying. 

“Catch me! Catch me! Catch me!” Klaus screams out, _so_ ready to break his nose, about to crash land on the ice. “Ow!” 

He covers his face with his hands, but the pain never comes as he’s being held by the two old cowboys a few feet above the snow-sprinkled ground. Maybe it looks like he’s levitating, looks much cooler than he thinks. Klaus thanks them, and they help him stand upright. He’s fiddling with the dog tags on his neck when Diego’s ex-girlfriend _finally_ notices him. 

“What can _you_ do?” she smiles at him. She’s wearing the makeup _he_ used to wear. “I can’t feel any power in ya, no talent, no potential, what’s the card up your sleeve?”

Klaus _mirrors_ her smile.

“I’m just subtle.”

She pushes him like a high school bully, angrily, in the chest. She does whatever she needs to do to take his powers — _whatever you can do, I can do better_ — and Klaus waits for it to work. His plan is crazy, or lack thereof is.

Diego yells,

“Lila, no!”

“Good to finally know your name,” Klaus winks at her. “Enjoy the show, _Lila.”_

She looks startled as the ghosts come closer, looking at Klaus, bewildered. 

“Sorry, guys. I called in sick today,” Klaus clicks his tongue. “You can talk to my manager,” he points at Lila.

“What? What do they want from me?” Lila is annoyed, and _scared,_ and Klaus can swear she wants to hide behind his back. “I’m not a villain, tell them!”

 _“You_ tell them,” Klaus says. “Here’s one little thing I noticed: you’re copying our powers — one at a time, by the way — along with our _techniques._ And, sorry to disappoint you, but I have no idea how my powers work.”

He really hopes that Lila can’t take another power while she hasn’t tamed his. Lila tries to play cool while her every gesture leaks with panic. The Handler tries to comfort her, she calls Lila a daughter, _a little one,_ and,

“Of course you can rule these powers better than him. Use them, sweetie, make the ghosts attack the Umbrella Academy!”

She exhales the smoke into Klaus’ face. 

Lila grits her teeth.

“This idiot never worked on that!”

“She’s right,” Klaus nods. “Your tobacco is shit, by the way. I can get you better stuff if you want to have some _real_ experience.”

With his back, he can feel his siblings’ amazed glances. 

The ghosts surround them.

“He’s the one with amnesia, right?”

“Not anymore,” Klaus shrugs. “But I forgot to tell you: these fellas can _possess you,”_ he whispers the last words into Lila’s ear. “And the aftermath of that is quite unpleasant, trust me.” 

“Tell me you’re bluffing,” Lila demands.

“He’s not.”

“Oh hi, Ben.”

Everyone can see Ben — and all the ghosts too — and Klaus feels a bit weaker than a minute ago. The ghosts get them in a circle, one of them reaches his hand to touch Lila, and she flinches like a frightened rabbit. 

“Are you still controlling them?!”

“Are you kidding me? I’m not controlling anything in my life!” 

There’s the point where Klaus’ fear returns — he doesn’t know a thing about mediumship, he can get possessed too, he can screw everything up; and the ghosts — the Commission agents Vanya has just killed — want some revenge. And they’re aiming for Lila, for the Handler, getting more and more tangible, feeding on their fear. 

“You want the kid, right?” Klaus exhales a cloudy puff of air. “You leave him alone, and your daughter won’t get her ass bitten by the phantoms. Deal?”

The Handler thinks. 

Then she says,

“Deal.”

Lila shudders when one of the ghosts touches her again.

“I believe you,” Klaus says. “You’re not a villain, you’ve just been brainwashed that way.”

Ben lets the Horror spurt out of his chest, sweeping the ghosts around them, and Klaus finally can breathe. He gulps the air hungrily, bending forward and watching the blood from his nose dripping into the snow. He knows he can’t continue the seance anyway, he can barely protect himself from another possession. Haze obstructs his vision.

He can’t see Ben.

Something’s going to happen.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Klaus raises his arms, suddenly aware of how many guns are lying around.

“No!” Lila yells too.

The Handler pulls the trigger.

And Klaus’ sight turns to a merry-go-round of death as he swirls around, seeing his siblings falling to the ground one by one, bullets hit their chests and foreheads, and the barn crashes down like a house of cards. 

There’s the burning in Klaus’ heart, a white-hot pain, and the wailing of ghosts in his ears finally subsides. 

*** 

“I didn’t expect to see _you two.”_

“Oh, well, me neither,” Klaus responds before he opens his eyes. “I didn’t miss that.” 

“You snapped your neck when you landed in Dallas. Again. I had to send you back, but something was wrong, and your mind got wiped out clean. _I’m sorry about that.”_

Oh, that sounds logical. For some reason.

Klaus is lying on a monochrome grass, staring at the monochrome sky and talking to a monochrome girl on a bike. And here’s Ben, lying next to him, perplexed and kinda sad. 

“The time has come,” the girl says. “You died again. And you…” she looks at Ben. “Didn’t go to the light when I called for you.”

“I was just afraid,” Ben says.

“Of the death?”

“Of leaving him alone.”

Klaus pulls on an _aw-w_ face. 

“That was so touching.”

“The ghost stays here,” God says. “Your family shouldn’t have died.”

“What do you mean?” Klaus sits up in a rush. “He’s my emotional support ghost, you can’t separate us.”

“I wanted to possess you not to let you die,” Ben confesses. “It didn’t work. I’m so sorry, Klaus.”

And God says,

“I’ll let the boy rewind the time. Your family stays alive. _Ben_ stays here. With me.”

“And…”

“I’m sending you back, I don’t have time for this. And neither do you.”

“But what if…”

“That kid from the store never flies to Vietnam. Dies in his late eighties in his sleep.”

This feels like a punch in the gut. Klaus doesn’t mean to cry, he doesn’t, but he’s not sure if he can hold back tears. 

And Ben pats his shoulder.

“You should go. Ghosts can’t even time travel, remember?”

“So you’re… Trading your life for ours?”

The words scratch Klaus’ throat on the way out. He never got a chance to grieve over Ben, and now — not to be selfish — he’s getting punished for that. 

“This might save the world,” Ben says.

“Ah, show off.”

“Hug me as I go?”

“Hurry up,” God rolls her eyes. “They’re waiting.”

Klaus hugs Ben, Ben hugs him back — their smiles are a bit crooked, and Klaus’ GOODBYE hand is shaking as Ben squeezes it. 

“It’s been gravy,” Ben says. “All those years.”

And Klaus says,

“You got your ticket to heaven.”

And they pull apart.

God snaps her fingers. 

***

He remembers his death, standing in the middle of the field and opening his mouth to warn his family — but he’s going through a lot — and a lot of things happen — Lila grabs one of the briefcases and disappears in a flash of a blue light; the last living Swede shoots the Handler in the head before she grabs a gun from the ground. Klaus falls to his knees like a broken puppet, tapping his temples to turn on his ghost-radar. He sees some of them, but there’s no Ben. He’s gone, he’s _really_ gone, and Klaus refuses to believe it, looking around frantically, running away from the family and the Handler’s corpse. 

“Hey, man,” he hears the voice from behind. “You stole my wallet.”

Klaus laughs nervously, brokenly, turning around.

“Elliott?”

He looks a bit bloodied and dead, and well, that’s a normal thing on that occasion.

“The Séance.”

“I’m… I’m really sorry about that,” Klaus stumbles over the words. “And… My dead brother just died again, that little shitheel, and I’m… _I’d steal it again,_ to be honest,” he admits. “I’d be sorry again.”

Elliott smiles before walking away. 

The cowboys haven’t seen Ben either. 

His siblings call for him, picking a briefcase that will take them to their 2019; Klaus is gonna get drunk as soon as he gets there, for sure. Klaus can’t keep lying to himself. He grabs a cowboy hat as a souvenir before they stand in a tight circle, holding hands, and Five opens the briefcase.

The vortex sucks them in, chews them and spits them out in a different timeline. 

Back at the mansion, they’re met by a bunch of weird things. A floating green cube and an emo-looking Ben calling them assholes are just the two twin-cherries on top of this cake of time traveling shit.

Another timeline is broken.

And, as a family, they say in unison,

_“Shit.”_

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr user @allisonschestnut THANK YOU FOR ALL THE GHOST KID JOKES  
> my tumblr: @i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky  
> \---  
> thanks for reading!  
> comments/thoughts/s2 theories are very appreciated <3  
> 


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